


when stars collapse

by loyaulte_me_lie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Healing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Meeting, pre-avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: or/ how Clint and Laura Barton fixed each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How is This My Life?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897216) by [Drag0nst0rm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm). 



> So this was inspired by a sentence in Dragonstorm's 'How Is This My Life?' and it was supposed to be fluffy but of course it ended up as angst. I hope you enjoy! :) (And yes at some point I will update DEMIGODS, I promise!) xx

She’s been housebound for four days by the time the rain lets up and it’s been driving her all sorts of crazy. Being home from college was supposed to be a break from everything, from the stares, the whispers, the hurricane of judgement lashing at her shoulders, but all it’s been so far is staring out at the ground hollowing under the clouds and feeling depression crawl into her skin. Her mother skirts around her, cleaning and humming and suggesting that Laura might want to play the piano, or make some cookies, or work on the dissertation that’s been sitting unfinished on her hard drive for weeks, trying to spark life back into her cells, but all Laura wants to do is sit curled up in her fraying old hoodie on the couch and forget about the whole sorry affair.

It’s been weeks, and she doesn’t understand why she can’t remember how to rub her brain clean.

The day the rain lets up, Laura’s mother has had enough and forcibly bundles her into a coat, shoving her out of the door and into the morning that’s slowly dawning, cradled lazily in a blanket of mist. “Feed the chickens, milk the cow, muck out the horses,” she says brusquely. “And don’t come back until you’re ready to do something.”

Laura makes a typical teenage noise even though really she has no right to claim adolescence anymore and trudges across the yard to the barn, feeling the tide of wet straw and animal rising into her nose and mouth and a sudden, irrational urge to cry clawing at her throat. She leans against the doorway, pressing her fists into her eyes and forcing herself to breathe like the counsellor at college taught her to, in for eight, out for ten, in for eight, out for ten until it’s subsided and then she shakes her head, rubs her eyes and walks into the barn.

The next thing she knows she’s stumbling over something warm and solid and her hand is going out to save herself and _ow motherfuckingow that really really really hurts…_

Her eyes are full of stars and the world has suddenly turned into a carousel but somehow there’s a low male voice swearing and a warm hand on her back, helping her into a sitting position from where her face was mashed against the floor.

“Shit I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

“Who on earth are you and what are you doing in my barn?” she gets out to the pair of _reallyridiculouslypretty_ blue-grey eyes that have swum into focus behind the stars.

“Head between your knees, I think you’re going into shock.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” she grumbles, but does what he says because the way the world is refusing to stay upright is making her feel somewhat sick. He takes her wrist gently, and she bites back a groan.

“Yep, definitely broken.”

“That’s _just_ what I need.” She cracks an eye open cautiously to check if the barn has righted itself yet. “I’m trusting that you’re not going to hurt me.”

He barks what could be a laugh. “More than I already have? No, you’re safe, don’t worry. I’ll even show you my badge if it’ll make you happier.”

“Why a law enforcement officer asleep in my barn in the middle of nowhere is what I want to know?” Laura gingerly raises her head, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the pain pulsing in her wrist, and taking a good look at her uninvited barn-guest. He’s kind of fit, she thinks, feeling the unwanted lurch of memory curdling in her stomach. For God’s sake it’s been weeks, when is her body going to stop reminding her?

“Needed somewhere to hide, it looked safe enough,” he says bluntly. “For the record, not really law enforcement either.”

“Alphabet agency?”

He shrugs. “You could call it that.”

“Well Mr Secret Agent Man, you’re lucky it was me doing the barn chores instead of my mother,” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop herself. He laughs.

“Your mother’s a bit fierce?”

“That’s an understatement.”

He gives her a look that she can’t decipher and she rolls her eyes. “You have a problem with strong women?”

“Absolutely not, ma’am,” he says. “I’m just slightly worried about explaining myself to her when I take you back to your house so you can get to the ER.”

“I’ll deal with my mother, it’s okay,” she grimaces. “Will you help me up?”

In one fluid instant, he’s scooped her easily up off the floor. Her heart jerks in shock and she tries to will back the panic. _He’s not going to hurt you, Laura, this is not like the last time. _She taps his shoulder with her good arm and raises her eyebrow, pretending that her heart isn’t intent on pounding its way out of her ribcage. “My wrist is broken not my leg.”

He gives her a shit-eating grin and places her back on her feet with deliberate care, winding an arm around her waist to keep her from falling. “I never got your name,” he says as they make their way out into the yard that’s slick with spring mud.

“Laura,” she says, concentrating on making her feet work.

“Your last name?”

“I think you can find that out Mr Secret Agent Man.”

His smile is full of amused exasperation. “My name’s Clint, but whatever floats your boat.”

For the first time in those endless leaden months, Laura feels a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and humour sparking at the ends of her fingertips. “Well, if that’s the case…”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You have no idea what I was about to do.”

“Oh believe me, I think I can guess.”

The screen door ahead of them creaks, and Laura sighs. “Okay, time to face the music.”

*

Surprisingly, Laura’s mother takes the fact that a secret agent has been camped out in her barn overnight in her stride. Knowing her mother, Laura was expecting much more of a song and dance about the whole situation, but Clint produces his badge from a pocket and after a few steel-tipped, poison-laced questions, Susan relents and gives him a tired smile.

“Well, thank you for looking after Laura, Agent Barton, it was very kind of you.”

“No problem, ma’am. There’s an extraction team on their way as of this morning, so I’ll be cleared out by the time you get back from ER.”

“Well, make sure you get yourself some breakfast before you go,” Susan says. “I’ll just get Laura’s brother to come down and help you.”

“Mom, you’re leaving _Jake_ in charge?”

“Just because he’s sixteen doesn’t mean he’s brain-dead, Laura.” Susan doesn’t even look over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

“He sure acts like it,” Laura mutters, looking up to catch Clint stifling a laugh. “Brothers are pains,” she informs him.

“Yeah, I know,” he gives her that same smile, and this time there are butterflies. He really is very attractive, she thinks. There’s no harm in appreciating it. He seems to be about to say something else, but Susan reappears with her bag and car-keys.

“Come on, Laura. The sooner we go, the less time we’ll have to wait.”

“Thanks, Clint,” she says quietly, giving him a small smile that sits wrong on her face. He mock salutes.

“Anytime, Laura.”

He stands on the porch as they get into the car, and he’s still there when Laura looks back over her shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past rape in this chapter.

She goes back to college and works hard to project normality, greeting jokes with laughter that only sounds a tiny bit brittle and smiles that are only ten percent fake. It’s less of a burden now and more of a disguise; the less she acts like she’s still affected, the fewer people remember. Slowly, slowly, slowly she convinces herself back to life, and as the weeks drag by, it slips into her subconscious and lurks there like a monster that only strikes on dead, dark nights rather than the one that stalked her and loomed over her shoulders whenever she tried to forget about it.

One evening, she’s walking back along her corridor, fumbling in her bag for her keys and not looking where she’s going when she nearly smacks into someone. Her feet stumble, and hands catch her shoulders, steadying her. “We have really got to stop meeting like this,” a voice says, and she looks up into Clint’s smirk. There’s a fresh cut held together with tape above his eyebrow.

“Hi,” she stutters. “What are you doing here?”

_Way to sound like a complete idiot, Laura._

“Just got off assignment,” he says. “I was wondering if you were free tonight, grab a drink?”

“How did you find me?” she asks stupidly, still stuck on the fact that he’s _here_ and he’s standing _right in front of her_ and however thick her castle walls are, there are still butterflies tumbling around in her stomach.

“Don’t make me give up all my secrets.” He taps the side of his nose, and she feels a smile pulling insistently at her face.

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You want to come? I even brought these as an apology for breaking your wrist.”

“Oh wow,” Laura stares at the bunch of purple and yellow and blue that he’s produced from behind his back, her heart bobbing into her throat. “These are gorgeous, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Tasha said you’d like them.”

“Tasha?”

“My partner. I had to threaten physical restraint to stop her following me.”

“Oh wow, she sounds…intense.”

“Yeah, that’s one word to use.”

There’s a slow pause, and he’s looking at her in a way that’s like he’s memorising every line of her face, reading the map of her cheekbones and eyebrows and nose and committing it to memory in a safe in the back of his brain. She swallows. “I’ll just go put these in water and dump my books and I’ll be right out.”

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll be here.”

*

He walks her back home afterwards, and leaves her with an email address and a kiss on the cheek. She stands, leaning against her door for the longest while, thinking about how, for the first time, the perennial fear that seeps into every cell is fading, drifting away into the empty spaces between her atoms.

*

They settle into a pattern of sorts – he’ll randomly turn up at her college dorm, and she’ll drop everything for a few hours of sitting and losing track of the time, talking and listening and learning the contours of his face so she can think about him on those dark nights when she wakes up gasping for the air the dances teasingly out of reach. He always leaves her with a kiss on the cheek or forehead that burns for hours afterwards, and she wonders what would happen if she were just goddamn brave enough to forget the past and take a leap.

*

One night, after walking her home, he takes her in his arms and kisses her, properly. _It’s Clint,_ she tells herself as her body stiffens. _It’s just Clint. He’ll never hurt you or do anything you don’t want to do or…_

“Hey are you okay?” He pulls away, resting his forehead against hers.

She swallows and swallows and swallows but her throat is too dry and her heart is pounding in her ears and she wants this, she wants this, _she wants this_ but

“I can’t do this,” she says, disentangling herself. “I can’t, I _can’t._ ”

The expression on his face as she slams the door is burned onto the backs of her eyelids. She sinks down against it, and starts to sob.

*

“You need to tell him.”

“Mom, I can’t I just…he’ll look at me like everyone looks at me and I can’t live with that, I…”

“I know you’re scared, sweetheart, I know,” Susan’s voice has gone soft. Laura can count on both hands the number of times this has happened. “But you need to let him make this call. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“Okay,” Laura hiccups.

“Okay. Call me again if you need me.”

*

To: hawkeye@shield.org

_Dear Clint,_

_I’m so so sorry about my overreaction last night. I…I need to tell you about something, and because I’m a coward, I’m sending you this email rather than telling you face to face._

_About a month before I met you, I broke up with my boyfriend of two years. Needless to say, he didn’t take it very well, and a week later, I was at a party with some of my friends. He was there. I was drunk and we fought. I left the party – it was raining and I had a bit of a walk home, but I wanted to clear my head. He came by with his car and apologised, gave me a lift home, but instead of leaving me at my door, he came in and he wanted sex. I said no, but of course that never matters, does it?_

_I reported it to campus police and did everything right, but still, people looked at me and said he was your boyfriend, he can’t have raped you, that’s not how things work, you were drunk and wearing a short skirt, you must have been encouraging him._

_I couldn’t cope with the strain, and I came home for a bit – that’s when I met you._

_I want you to know that you’re the reason I started smiling again, and these last few months have been incredible. I want so badly to be able to be with you, but I’m just so scared, even though I know that you would never do anything like this._

_You know where to find me if you want to talk, but I understand if you don’t want to see me._

_Yours_

_Laura._

*

It’s two weeks later that he appears. She’s walking back to her dorms with her heavy shopping in the rain, and all of a sudden, he’s walking alongside her. Her heart misses a beat, and she stops, staring. The rain is pouring down in a sheet of silver from the cracked pieces of cloud, plastering her hair to her head. He has new scars and his arm in is in a sling. The dark circles beneath his eyes are like a thunderstorm.

“Laura,” he says, quietly. She closes her eyes, remembering how much she loves the way her name sounds in his mouth.

“You got my email?”

“I would’ve come sooner, I’ve been in Budapest.”

“It’s okay.”

He’s silent for a second, breathing in and out. A woman huddling under an umbrella scurries past them. “I’m going to put it bluntly,” he tells her, reaching out to take her hand. “It is _not_ your fault, okay? What happened to you is the fault of the bastard who did it…if I ever cross paths with him…” he stops and takes another breath, squeezing her hand. “I understand that you’re scared, and I want you to know that I’ll wait as long as it takes. You’re incredible. You’re just…I like you _so_ much, it’s kind of terrifying, and the thought of seeing your smile that gets me through things that by all rights, I really shouldn’t survive.”

She feels a tidal wave of blood rushing to her cheeks. “So you’re…”

“I want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

“Yes,” she says, abandoning her shopping and stepping into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, breathing in the smell of rain and leather and washing powder. He winces even as his good arm settles around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?” she whispers into his shirt.

“Three cracked ribs,” he barks out a short laugh. “Budapest was _not_ fun. I’ll tell you when we’re not on the street.”

“Got the NDAs ready?”

“Yeah, like always.”

“Okay,” she says, stepping back. His hand slides down her arm and he twines her fingers with his. She feels a steady warmth sliding up her arm. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is this little ficlet done but I'll probably write more in this 'verse whenever the inspiration strikes :) Let me know what you think! xx


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